


Only In Dreams

by calliope123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Future Fic, trigger warning: violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliope123/pseuds/calliope123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long winter comes to an end, only to bring dreams of spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I don't consider myself a writer (so please, be gentle). A collection of thoughts stored up for too long that needed a place to rest.

"Little Bird", he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he slowly raises a hand in the air for her to capture. She presses raw lips to his fingers, and she is unsure whether it is the bite of the cold or the emptiness beginning to advance inside that makes her shiver.  
“Yes, my lord”, she chokes as a ghost of a smile passes over his face, his eyes heavy but focused upon her.   
“Not a lord”, he chuckles, but then he is coughing as bits of red spatter across his lips. 

He sucks in the cold air, and tightens his grasp on her delicate hand.  
“My love”, he murmurs, his voice eerily soft and light, and she nods fervently as tears trickle down to the bow of her lips.   
“Always”, she cries as the blood surrounding them continues to darken and spread, her voice carried away on the wind. He slowly pulls their bodies closer to one another, and she presses herself against him, their foreheads touching. 

He strokes a gloved finger through fiery red tresses as he continues to watch her, yet his eyes wander off to something in the distance.   
“Str….Stranger”, he utters as he breathes her in, the scent of her stirring memories of warm nights in their chambers…. of dreams….of spring.   
“No…he is not coming for you”, she stammers.  
“The Maiden then”, he smiles, arching his neck in a plea for her mouth to trace his. 

She kisses him deeply, and for a moment she feels warmth rushing back into his skin, but it is just as quickly drawn out of him, growing ever more pallid and cold.   
“Don’t…please….” she cries, her thumbs tracing his face repeatedly as if hoping to remember every groove, every line, every kiss the fires gave him.   
“Sing”, she hears him say, though whether it is a declaration or plea she is unsure, and so she begins low and soft the song of Florian and Jonquil. He smiles then, brightly, and her throat catches as an image of a young boy filled with dreams of knights and maidens flashes before her. As the song ends he calls her name once more and his eyes turn glassy, his chest slowly falls, and there is only his last breath ghosting the air. 

She is strong, and though her breathing is erratic and her body now gone numb, she says a prayer over him as she tenderly guides his eyes closed.   
There is then the sound of hooves pounding against sleet and snow vibrating across the ground, and she turns her head in the direction of echoing voices.   
“They are coming for us”, she thinks. “But they will not seize us, not in this life.”  
She takes in their surroundings-wet snow laden with wild blue roses that begin to press out from underneath thin, glassy ice. The game is lost, and now only death awaits her. 

Though it was never the game that mattered , she thinks now, stroking the matted black hair away from his face. She had been blessed with a long winter with him by her side, knowing well enough it could not last forever, in this lifetime at least. A man calls out to the others declaring he has found them out, and she is quickly surrounded by Baelish’s men. He is there, sitting atop his fine gelding looking just as proud and pretty as ever she remembers him.  
“Lady Stark, the once Queen in the North”, he laughs airily. “And her loyal dog, I see. Though it would seem the gods have not been in your favor, my lady.”  
She kneels beside Sandor’s body, smiling softly. “What would he say in this moment?” Sansa wonders….”Bugger your gods”, he’d growl, not going down without the last bark.

“Nor in yours, “ she says, which gets her a dark glare from his graying brow. “Perhaps not” he sighs, “Yet you have lost so much more than I ever have or will. The pack is slain, your den in ruins…and your claim…” His eyes move to Cleganes, shining with mirth… “Removed.”  
“ You are of no value or gain to any man. A true bastard it would seem”, his men chuckling low at their master’s quip.   
She stands straight and proud now amidst the men surrounding her, her chin held high, her back straight. Their attention turns the woman kissed by fire and ice.   
“I am a Stark”, she proclaims, and as the men raise their bows in her direction, she sucks in her final breath of wintry air, “And I am brave”.


End file.
